


Prompt: Justice served.

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Codependency, Crossover, Disillusionment, Gen, Grindlewald's War, Harry Potter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5465246">This</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: Justice served.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TobermorianSass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobermorianSass/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prompt: Beg our forgiveness.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465246) by [EssayOfThoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts). 



> This was written for a prompt, readable on my tumblr [Here](). Comments are always welcome.

**i.**  
For all Dumbledore’s assurances that things would now be well, things were not. The trials at Nurmengard went forward but many evaded notice, or were pardoned and squirrelled away into jobs in a Department of Mysteries  _here_  or  _there._

“How  _dare_ they?” Wanda spat, when she saw the papers. “How  _dare_  they get away with what they did?”

Pietro’s hand rubs her shoulders gently as he tries to soothe her anger. Wanda still shakes her head.

“How  _dare_  they?”

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  
They have never trained with wands, so when they are first given them they feel awkward in their hands. Wanda’s is blackthorn, and not always reliable when her magic sparks in her eyes and from her fingers in shards of scarlet. Pietro’s is oak brought all the way from England, and a loyal and helpful thing when it does manage to work.

Their attempts at spells are small and awkward, and more often than not Wanda uses her wand to hold her bun in place and works her scarlet sparks out of her fingers.

 

* * *

 

 **iii.**  
It startles people, how Wanda can flick her fingers and create a glowing crimson globe, and how Pietro barely needs to focus to pull them through Apparition and away.

“Do you have an Apparition license?” asks one of the historians, searching them out to examine the past, and Pietro shakes his head. 

“And I can’t cast shield spells, and  _Lumos_  tends to sputter for both of us and a myriad other things. They never let us practice magic, so we learned it our own way.” Pietro snorts. “I wonder how many Magical Theorists guessed that not only wands haven’t always been, but that we don’t really  _need_  them.”

“Hm,” says the historian, and the next person to chase them down is a magibiologist.

 

* * *

 

 **iv.**  
“Fuck this,” Wanda says when they next see Dumbledore’s face in the papers. He has just been made Supreme Mugwump, given power over the International Confederation of Wizards and Wanda knows he will do nothing  _at all_  with that power. “Fuck this. Fuck  _him_  with the Troll’s club in the pub. How  _dare_  he?”

Pietro’s hand rubs her shoulder, he presses gentle kisses to the back of her neck. “We can’t stop it,” he says. “We are only two.”

Wanda’s scarlet is sparking around her fingers, her eyes are glowing crimson, but it fades at her brother’s touch. “Then,” she says, “We must find others who agree with us.”

 

* * *

 

 **v.**  
Wanda’s writing, once she relearned it, is an elegant cursive, with a sharp severity strong enough to confuse those who try to guess which of them who wrote it. She starts anonymously writing articles for the papers and journals, and even sends one to the Wixenomist. Not all are accepted but enough are, and she starts receiving letters from editors, asking for anonymous articles on certain topics. 

There is a slant to her writing, a sharp and constant criticism of Dumbledore and his supporters. It questions and needles and asks  _why_ , why he is a hero, when he waited so long to intervene. 

 

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
“What are you doing?” Pietro asks one day as she writes. The light in their room is soft, to ease the headache she has after wending her way through the twisting truths of the old records. Wanda blows softly on the ink to dry it.

“Making them question him,” she says. “Making them wonder. With luck it will make his foundations crumble and then he will be gone.”

Pietro’s hand is gentle on the nape of her neck, rubbing away the knots that have formed. “And what,” he asks, “If this does not work?”

Wanda sets her quill down, and dries the ink off with a tissue. For a moment there is nothing but the soft sound of the candles in the drafty wind and the slight sound of sand sprinkled over inked parchment. Wanda’s hand reaches up to gently touch her brother’s wrist.

“This will work,” she says, and turns to look up to him. “But first we must go to find an old enemy.”

 

* * *

 

 **vii.**  
The Potioneer they search out was one of those who had worked at Grimmshel, secreted away into British Department of Mysteries with no hullabaloo and a new name. Agent Harpier, Kleos Ammendorf now Cleos Accipiter, works deep within the Department of Mysteries making potions of cruelty and kindness and all things between.

The twins track him to his house, and wait. It is easy to break through his wards, using magic as they do and it makes Wanda smile.  _You did not know_ , she thinks, _That in trying to make counters to weapons and weapons with no counters, you made the weapons of your own demise._

 

* * *

 

 **viii.**  
Accipiter is stunned when he enters the room and spots them there, and not by magic.

“Hello,” Wanda says, and it is barely a whisper. “Do you remember us?”

The gibbering noise he makes is indication enough, and Wanda knows that behind her Pietro is smiling. She pushes the man into his chair, looks into his dull brown eyes with her ones filled with crimson. 

“Tell,” she says, “The truth of what happened to us. To all of us in Grimmshel. To all under Grindlewald, when Albus Dumbledore could have ended it. Write it out,” and she pushes a self-inking quill into his hand, “Sign it, and kill yourself.” 

The red in her eyes rises, looks almost like blood against her rich brown. She has heard of the Unforgivables but whatever this magic she is using is, it is not that. The scarlet leeches from her eyes into Accipiter’s, and he starts to write.

 

* * *

 

 **ix.**  
The next day the world is in uproar.  _Is it true?_  is whispered from one mouth,  _Is this real?_  from another. The  _Daily Prophet_  has three versions of the article, one anonymous, one considered, and one frantic and screaming from a fledgling writer named Skeeter. Other papers and journals, on the islands, on the continent, across the ocean, pick up the news soon after.

By morning the country knows, by noon the whole of Europe does. By evening wixen America is condemning Dumbledore’s actions, holding back so long, and the ICW is muttering, displeased noises rising up through the ranks. 

Wanda has other articles penned and waiting, ready to stoke the fire she had built up, banked and set alight, but she does not need to. She watches the missives and new articles come flying down the Alley to the  _Prophet’_ s offices, Pietro’s arm around her shoulders, and knows that Dumbledore is done.

**Author's Note:**

> The Wixenomist and Grimmshel are both the invention of the Tobermoriansass for whom this was written. Ammendorf from [This](http://thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com/post/127029351081/there-are-histories-and-there-are-lies-the-two) on [](http://thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com>thepostmodernpottercompendium</a>.)


End file.
